Slow Dancing
by ebthor
Summary: Booth and Brennan slow dance at Angela and Hodgins' wedding.


Disclaimer: Bones and all characters associated with it are the property of Fox. I own nothing.

The party was in full swing, with the staff of the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab, various FBI personnel, and assorted friends and family dancing, milling around the bar and refreshment table, and congregating in groups to laugh and chat.

To the side of the party, Angela and Hodgins stood, watching their friends.

"Good party," Jack commented to his wife, admiring her in the white gown and enjoying the fact that he could call her _his wife_.

"Very good party. And now it's time for the highlight of the evening." She signaled the DJ.

"All right, all right, ladies and gentlemen," he called out over the sound system. "It's time for a return to high school! I need all the ladies to form a circle in the center of the floor. Well done. And may I say you all look _lovely_ tonight. And now, gentlemen, form a circle around the ladies. When the music starts, ladies I want you to walk to the right. Men, to the left. When the music stops, dance with the person you're standing across from, got it?"

The DJ started the music and watched the groups circle each other. Earlier in the day, Angela had cornered him. _There's a 500 tip in it if these two_, she held up a picture of Booth and Brennan, _dance together_ _during those stupid wedding games you make people play._ He really wanted that tip.

He had spied the couple several times during the evening, and he didn't think they needed a silly game to dance together. The tension and attraction between them was almost palpable.

But he watched them pass each other once, twice, their eyes meeting and holding until they had to look forward again, and on the third time he stopped the music. He watched the man with the dark eyes grin and hold his hand out to the slim, auburn-haired woman and she slid easily into his arms. The song, Frank Sinatra's _Cheek to Cheek_, was slow enough that people unfamiliar with dancing with each other would be able to move easily together, but not so slow they would feel awkward.

Brennan felt Booth's hand settle on the small of her back and her heart leapt a little, the way it always did. She'd long ago stopped lying to herself and telling herself it was a mere physiological reaction to stimulus at an area of her body with a high nerve ending concentration; she knew better. It was far more than a physiological response.

They executed a complicated turn and she tossed her head back to laugh at the pure joy of how well they moved together. They'd danced together before, several times, but she marveled anew at how easy it was to follow his lead, how easy it was to let him lead.

He looked down at her and couldn't help but grin. She looked gorgeous, that flawless skin gleaming in the muted light of the ballroom and her eyes lit with enjoyment. He loved the feel of her hand clasped in his, the way her foot slid perfectly between his as they whirled along the perimeter of the dance floor, the sensuous feel of her leanly muscled back flexing and bowing beneath his hand. He silently thanked Angela for selecting bridesmaid gowns that dipped low in the back, baring his favorite part of her to his touch.

The song ended and the DJ slid into another one, slower. Booth quirked an eyebrow at his partner and, at her small nod, continued dancing with her.

A slow, shuffling number about a man asking a woman to stand by him in the dark began and Brennan was delighted when Booth pulled her closer, shifting his grip on her right hand so he could hold their joined hands against his heart. She slid her left arm up his shoulder so her fingers could curl into the thick hair at the nape of his neck.

They unconsciously moved closer and closer together until her cheek rested against shoulder, his head bent so he could inhale the honey-and-lemon scent of her hair. Their steps slowed until they were simply circling, wrapped close in the shadows at the edge of the floor.

The song ended and the DJ segued into a pop song about bringing sexy back and Booth and Brennan parted, lifting their heads and meeting the other's eyes. Brennan blinked back sudden tears and pulled away from Booth, striding across the dance floor and out into the deserted hallway. Angela chased after her.

"Bren, what the hell are you doing? If you're running, you should be running _at_ Booth, not _away_ from him. Bren? Sweetie?" Angela's voice became less strident and more concerned as she caught the shattered look on her friend's face. "Bren? What is it?"

Brennan blinked hard, and tried to clear her face of any expression. "Nothing. I just needed some air."

"Okay, Bren, listen. It's my wedding day. You know what that means? It means I get what I want, whatever it is. And what I want is for you to tell me what in the name of God is wrong with you."

"Ange, I…"

"Come here," Angela said, grabbing her friend's arm and towing her around a corner to make sure they would have some privacy. She shoved Brennan onto a bench and settled next to her. "Start talking."

Brennan lifted her eyes to her friend's face. She sighed, giving up. Maybe if she talked about it, the crushing weight in her chest would ease. Besides, Angela never gave up. She would hound until Brennan gave in just to stop the headache pounding at her temples.

"I will if you promise not to interrupt. I'm afraid if I stop I won't be able to get it all out."

"Fine, then. Lips zipped. Spill."

A questioning look appeared in Brennan's eyes at the "lips zipped" phrase but she didn't have the energy or the concentration to ask for clarification. She began speaking and soon the words were tumbling out of her in their eagerness to be spoken aloud for the first time.

"Booth, he touches me all the time. His hand on my back, or hugs, or helping me on with my coat. He always touches me. I should be used to it. But I'm not. It shouldn't have any effect on me, but it does. Every time he touches me, it feels…_right_. Like a piece of me, some piece I never even knew was missing, falls into place. I'm whole. And it shocks me every time. And when we were dancing, _touching_ like that, holding each other, it was…"

"Perfect," Angela finished for Brennan, sensing she was faltering.

"Yes," she sighed. "Perfect. And too much; too overwhelming." She leaned her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands, sucking in a deep breath.

"Sweetie, why don't you tell Booth this?"

"Because what if it's not the same for him? What if he thinks we're just friends, partners? If I told him and he didn't feel the same way for me it would be the end of us. There would be nothing, no more working together, no more eating at the diner, no more us. I can't live without him, without his touches, without his companionship, without that piece he gives to me. I'd rather have that sense of perfection once in a while and wish for more than lose him."

"You'd rather settle for less than everything because you're afraid of ending up with nothing."

Brennan nodded miserably, her eyes once again misted with tears. "I know that makes me a coward. A pathetic coward that settles for crumbs, but I am too afraid to lose him."

"No. No, sweetie, it doesn't make you a coward," Angela said, wrapping her arms around her friend and rocking her. "Not at all. It makes you in love."

"I didn't even believe in love until I met him," Brennan whispered, and Angela's heart broke for her friend.

Angela continued holding Brennan, swaying gently from side to side. A shadow at the corner of her vision caught her attention and she raised her eyes. She contained her gasp of shock, but the sight of Booth standing stock still, his gaze focused on Brennan, sent her pulse skittering. There was such a concentrated look of longing in those dark eyes that she wasn't surprised to see him take a step forward. She opened her mouth to tell him no, that Brennan would be embarrassed to be seen like this, that she would close up and run, when Jack came up and grabbed Booth's arm, pulling him away.

Booth watched Bones stride away from him. He let her go. Her eyes had been teary when she looked at him and while his instinct was to run after her, to hold her and promise that he'd make everything better, he knew he couldn't. His own emotions were too raw, too close to the surface, after holding her close. If he chased after her, he'd tell her too much, show her too much, and she would run again, scared. But she'd never come back. He couldn't lose her, so he wandered through the ballroom slowly until he harnessed he feelings again, then went out the door he'd seen her go out.

He had some sixth sense about her, some way of knowing when she was near, of knowing exactly where she was standing. All the times she thought she had been observing him unnoticed he'd known where she was and that she was looking at him. His skin tingled when she was close. So he unerringly turned the corner and walked down the hallway where Bones and Angela were huddled.

…_what if it's not the same for him?_ He stood, silent, transfixed, listening to her pour out her heart. When she sobbed his fingers flexed as he fought the urge to scoop her up out of her friend's arms.

_She loves me_, he thought, his heart soaring. His eyes met Angela's and he started forward when hand, strong, gripped his right arm and pulled him away. He struggled for a second, then saw Jack staring at him. The two men walked away from the women on the bench.

"Listen, Booth, I know it's none of my business, but Brennan is…well, I don't want her hurt. I—she—well, if you don't return her feelings, then--"

Booth grinned at him. "Jack. I love her."

Jack grinned back. "I knew it."

Booth sighed then and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I guess I shouldn't go running over there, scooping her up. It'll just embarrass her."

Ten minutes later Brennan had calmed down, mopped her face in the ladies' room, and walked back into the ballroom. It was dark enough that her red-rimmed eyes would be difficult to notice.

"Bones! Hey, I requested our song. Come dance with me," Booth said, coming from nowhere and catching her hand.

"What? Wait, Booth, what do you mean, 'our song'?" she said, digging in her heels and grabbing his wrist.

"Our song, you know, the first song we ever danced to."

A familiar guitar riff echoed through out the ballroom and Booth's eyes lit with unholy glee. Brennan smiled until she started laughing.

_Well, I'm hot-blooded, check it and see_.  
_I got a fever of a hundred and three._

He spun her out on the floor and skidded out after her with his air guitar at the ready.

Several hours later he settled her shawl over her shoulders and walked her out to the truck. She was fast asleep minutes after he pulled out of the lot and he reached over to clasp her hand. Even in her sleep she clung to him.

He carried her up to her apartment, balancing her precariously on his knee while he fumbled with the lock.

"Booth?" she murmured, nuzzling into his neck when the sound of the door closing startled her.

"Right here, love," he whispered back, settling onto the couch with her snuggled into his lap. He stroked her back gently, bringing her to wakefulness.

She woke slowly, her eyes heavy, her head reluctant to leave the comfort of his shoulder.

"You awake, Bones?"

"Mostly," she mumbled. "Why am I on your lap?" she asked as reality returned to her.

"Well, that makes it easier to do this," he said, leaning down and capturing her mouth with his.

She kissed him back, her brain simply shutting off as soon as his lips touched hers.

He pulled away to rest his forehead on hers. "I love you, Temperance."

Her mouth dropped open and she just stared at him, unable to form a coherent response.

He smiled at her. "I've been waiting three years to tell you that, I guess I can wait a few minutes for your response."

She smiled back suddenly, her grin breaking over her face like a sunrise, her eyes lit with joy. "I love you too."


End file.
